


The Times I Told You I'd Stick By Your Side

by xxELF21xx



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Depression, Ex-colonies, Gen, I'm Going to Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:30:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England sits down to read the letters stashed under a rock. Blood, sweat and tears are wasted on the paper. A familiar ending always comes. </p><p>"I don't know if I love you anymore,</p><p>Singapore"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Times I Told You I'd Stick By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I thought up.

The times you told me you'd stick by my side—all of them were lies. There was no difference between the Great British Empire and the Dutch Empire. Both of you only wanted money. All those times you told me you loved me—were they fake, too? Just like what America did to you, I'm doing the same.

It took me one hundred and twenty three years to realise, that the Empire never cared for me or the people that reside here. It took me three years of pain to finally see through that shrouded mist of lies and fake "I'll protect you"s. It took me a lifetime to finally understand. 

Just like how my own grandfather died, my feelings and memories are begging to be erased. 

I want my freedom. I want it back. I want to be the island that connects East and West. I want equality. 

I want my rights.

And when I shout out "Merdeka", are you once again going to tell me that you love me?  
Or will you resist, and finally notice what I've been through?

It's been years since this happened. And I want to remind you, that even if you made me who I am today; I'll never forget the way you gave me up to the enemy.

I don't know if I love you anymore,

Singapore.

 

—+—

There was once you told me you'd protect me with all your might. I trusted you. But you let me fall, you made me remember what it was like when Portugal came and set me on fire, I was screaming, wailing and crying for your shelter. All the horrors of the past flitted through my head, of all the battles and all my caretakers, of the various funerals and the everlasting questions of why I was immortal. 

The screams of betrayal still ring in my ears, in the cover of the dark. Eyes of different colours pour into my mind. All of them scream for help. You never came back. You leave me for the Japanese Empire, as I cried for your arms around me to protect me from those flames. The ghosts of my past seek me every night, some want revenge for what you did, and others to comfort. "There's always tomorrow", they always tell, but I lay in bed wide awake; eyes never daring to close. 

The next day, people surround me and question why I look so dead. I smile but never reply. Malaysia always comes to settle an argument, but we never really fight. He opens my door and treats himself in, and finds me on my bed; doing the same routine over and over. He'd rant and rave about how he hates me, and I let him do as he pleases. 

It's a one sided fight, after so long, he'd leave and never turn back. The words he just said would stay fresh in my mind, a million other words ringing all at the same time. I tune it out as best as I could to try and get work done; but every single time my mind is calm, I feel a deep sense of dread pull me down. I would put up a fight, tiredly leaning my head on the table top.

I feel my life force draining away, for whenever America visits. His actions are lively, swift and strong. I am nothing compared to him. You may think America doesn't notice, but he always seems to ask the most sensitive question in fear. Just the other day, he asked me, "hey, Singapore? You feeling fine? You don't look as good as the other time." I shake my head and laugh out loud, switching topics fast, we end up walking around town; but America's gaze always seems to pierce through my facade.

Hong Kong tells me I should rest, let my mind be blank. He says thinking about nothing is best, but I make no sense of it. Hong Kong always knows what to say; but he never really bothers saying it out. Imagine the shock I got when he told me he'd complain to my boss about my too thin frame and tired face. I put up an act and pretend it's alright, but I can already feel myself crumble.

Soon, I'll be able to see those I love. 

Malaysia kicked up a fuss yesterday. Said he won't cooperate with me because my boss never allows me enough time to rest. Last night, I slept with him next to me; I did not know when I woke up crying and shaking. All those words and faces and cries and flames swallowed me again. All I knew was that Malaysia was there, calming me down.

I guess I'm really done for. . . Huh?

After surviving for over hundreds of years, I'm still questioning my existance.

I don't know if I love you anymore,

Singapore

—+—

I found out that I became a little weaker this week. The mummurs of sweet promises and joyous laughter. . . Seem fresh in my mind. All those honey you fed me when I was your little servant; I never quite forgot them.  Three years after I was torn of everything I held so dear, you handled me like cooling glass. Shaping me into a beloved Crown, you spoke the magic you promised me long ago, the words seemed weak once it reached my ears. I tried to believe you, I tried to understand you.

But all you cared for was your own men. Those fair skinned upperclassmen, still in all their glory, got sent back to your house to rest. Not once did you think of the others.

I took your honey and fed myself. The bitter taste choked me and I felt repulsed. I wanted to lead myself.

I wanted my freedom and rights.

You allowed me to do so, after much debate. The pain and screams and fires still followed, in dreams and in real life. There was not a day where I never felt sick of those bright, red and orange things. 

You gave me the need to rely on Malaysia soon after. And when I wedded him, you no longer gave me jars of honey. All you gave me were broken pots and knives that left me gasping for air. 

Malaysia proposed we break up. I accepted easily. He never really knew what I did on that day of the break. 

Germany befriended me later on, all we did was sit in silence as our bosses talked, but we felt comfortable. Russia, America, France, Thailand, Hong Kong, New Zealand, Australia and many more followed. 

I guess this ends here today.

By the way, Malaysia's adamant about staying over. The flames and funerals and names crack my skull most nights.

I don't know if I love you anymore,

Singapore

—+—

The letters stopped appearing under the rock. England shuffles the older letters and check the dates. He'd been so busy with meetings he didn't have time to check.

The last letter was written two months ago.

England placed his letters atop the smooth rock and searched through his garden; never finding a single letter.

England pauses when he spots an envelope placed in his rosebush. Carefully, he picked it off. He unsealed the envelope swiftly, letting it drop to the ground. He feels the tang of blood hit his nose and is confused.

On the paper is a short paragraph. And a splatter of blood.

The times you told me you'd stick by my side—thank you. Even if you lied to me, I want to believe you've actually loved me as a father would do to his son. Please remember me?

I'm sorry I gave up.

Singapore 

—+—

 


End file.
